


Rocks like Baked Goods

by Cryptographic_Delurk



Category: Tales of Legendia
Genre: Age Difference, Baked Goods, Dysfunctional Comedy(?), F/M, Gen, Or the lack thereof, Post-Canon, meta jokes, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 22:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17568818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptographic_Delurk/pseuds/Cryptographic_Delurk
Summary: Norma attempts to show Harriet how to bake muffins, and it’s by far the least successful of the learning experiences between them.That was the thing about tact, Harriet had learned: You didn’t need to tell someone you disliked them for them to know. She knew Norma didn’t really like her either, after all.





	Rocks like Baked Goods

There was leftover vegetable oil beaded around the rim of the measuring cup, even after the rest of it had long since been poured into the mixing bowl, flipped into the egg and sugar and flour, and spatulaed out into the baking cups.

“And that’s how we do it, Hattie,” Norma said, as she slid the pan into the oven. She looked expectantly at Harriet for a moment. As if just by watching someone bake some muffins, Harriet would somehow magically be imparted with what that Norma no doubt considered her artistry, her _divine wisdom_.

Harriet couldn’t stop thinking about the vegetable oil though. She had watched the way it flowed in pulsing surges from the bottle into the measuring cup. Harriet imagined what it would be like to drink that viscous yellow liquid – to have it stick to her lips and throat and repel all attempts to be washed away. And the thought was so repulsive, it put her cleanly off her appetite. It didn’t matter that the oil was only one ingredient long since mixed into batter.  If this was what baking was about, Norma could have it all to herself.

Norma smile stayed fixed on her, sickeningly sweet, for a moment longer. But Harriet could see her giving up. Harriet had learned to take Shirley’s advice. _Maybe it'd be better if you didn't tell her what you really think._ But she didn’t think Norma had forgotten the conversation they had at the Thunder Monument. _Do you hate me? – Yeah, I don’t like you._ And Harriet didn’t think Norma was stupid enough to believe anything had changed. That was the thing about tact, Harriet had learned. You didn’t need to tell someone you disliked them for them to know. She knew Norma didn’t really like her either, after all.

Norma shrugged her shoulders in defeat. She shot a longing glance to the window, then to the entryway door – where Dad was in conference with Mayor Musette – before she took a seat across Harriet on the bench beside the oven. Norma didn’t so much fidget as vibrate rapidly in place for a good thirty seconds, and then she pulled out her treasure hunting journal for the sake of having something to do.

Hattie let herself scowl at Norma as she scrolled through the pages of the journal. The journal was filled with drawings of interesting runes and glyphs, maps of their locations, and Norma’s handwriting. She dotted her ‘i’s with tiny circles like bubbles. Cute. The fact that it seemed to match the work Harriet had seen her father do – sketching plant and animal specimens in extensively footnoted notebooks – only added insult to injury. They did, in fact, have hobbies in common.

Norma went about one minute without saying anything which, Harriet had learned, was about the limit for how long you could reasonably expect Norma to go without running her mouth off. Norma scratched her head and turned a page in her journal idly.

“You know, Hattie, it’s so weird. One of the strongest people I know doesn’t fight with knives or swords or eres or anything like that. She just completely pistol whipped me with a baguette. Er- I guess it’s not pistol whipping if it’s with bread? Bread whipped?” Norma bit her lip and tapped her chin with her index finger. “Imagine baking a baguette so hard, that you could swing it like around like a club and knock people out with it? Just how bad would you have to be at baking to make something like that, I wonder?”

Harriet glared.

“Since you suck at cooking and all, maybe you can make a baguette like that.” Norma continued. “Then you can work hard to become the strongest, yeah! Operation: Hattie Bread Whips Everyone!”

“Are you making fun of me?!” Harriet demanded.

Norma’s eyes widened. She seemed genuinely taken aback for a second, before her expression fell into an affected smirk. “Well, I guess I’m teasing just a little~”

The worst part is Harriet couldn’t tell if Norma really _meant_ to be insulting, or if she really was just saying any old thing that came to mind. _I’m just being honest._

Harriet puffed her cheeks. She wanted to stomp her heels on the floor.

Instead, she huffed out a word through puffed lips.

_Spandex._

“What was that?” Norma had gotten up, and was leaning over the bench to look into the oven. Her rump was laid out over the table, and Harriet could see the crotch of Norma’s yellow leotard peak out from under her skirt.

“Why do so many people here on the Legacy wear spandex? You and Senel and Chloe. Dad. Even Jay, under his jacket… Nobody on the mainland wears anything like that,” Harriet huffed.

Norma stood up straight. She smoothed the slitted skirt at her hip and adjusted the skin tight fabric at her breast. “But C is from the mainland. And I’m pretty sure she came here with that bodysuit. Senny too. I bought this outfit when I arrive at Port-on-Rage, but-” Norma pouted. “Form fitting clothes weren’t popular in your hometown?”

Harriet scowled and shook her head vigorously. “You look ridiculous.  It’s tacky. It’s-”

_Indecent_ was the word that came to mind, but Harriet swallowed the word on her tongue and fumed. She had heard the word throughout her childhood. Grandpa and other nobles had been fond of tossing it around, and Harriet had learned through pattern the types of clothes they found inappropriate. But she couldn’t go home to Grandpa and learn more from him now – and that hurt more than running away from him had done. She would do the rest of her learning and growing here, on the Legacy. And when she saw Norma’s boots stretch up long, long legs, drawing Harriet’s eyes to the exposure of flushed skin at Norma’s thigh, and then curving up her hip at the slit in her skirt – Harriet understood that it wasn’t clothes that were indecent, it was what was under them. And she also understood that it was Norma who had taught her that. And she hated it.

“It’s-! It’s just unfashionable!” Harriet declared. She pressed her hands down, smoothing the top layer of her dress. Shirley had taken her to get it refitted and lengthened only a few weeks ago. Harriet huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Norma had slid back into her seat, across the bench from Harriet. She crossed her legs, rested one elbow against the table. And she didn’t so much prop her head up against her hand, as graze her fingers over the side of her cheek.

“What can I say?” Norma smiled. “I guess your dad and I just aren’t very fashionable.”

Harriet wanted a quip ready to toss back but, to her mortification, it took all of her composure to not only keep her face from turning scarlet, but also to force the lump in her throat back down and to quell the sudden urge to burst to tears. The seconds ticked by, without even the beginning words of a retort materialising to Harriet, until she was finally forced to admit the window for any response at all had passed.

Norma’s attention had drifted, and she began humming a tune under her breath.

_Did they think she was an_ idiot _?!_ Harriet thought. Norma had blinked at her with wide eyes and a blank smile, caught in a fluffy white towel outside the bathroom. Harriet had let her pass without a word, only a few accusatory glances. And fifteen minutes later, when Dad emerged from his room, the grey sweatpants and orange t-shirt he wore as pyjamas didn’t detract from the calm and serious tone with which he delivered his command: the three of them should have breakfast together and discuss the current situation and- _where do you think you’re going?_ Dad didn’t even have to look as he reached out an arm, and caught Norma’s shoulder as she tried to sneak away down the stairs behind his back. _You’re involved in this too_ , he scolded.

There was no one to scold _him_ when Mayor Musette came by, when Dad had to postpone breakfast as he was dragged away – just like he always was – to counsel about the price of apples and flour, vandalism on the main street, any one of Werites Beacon’s administrative emergencies, or whoever was trying to sink the continent this time. Norma and Harriet had not been excused to go about their own business though. Once Dad was finished, they still had to have their _talk_.

Did they think she was an idiot?! Did they think Harriet hadn’t known what it had meant when Dad had allowed Norma free reign of the house, sliding down the stair railing and dangling upside down from Pterodactyl fossil hanging in the hall? Did she they think she hadn’t known what it meant when Norma started sneaking into Dad’s room through the window at night, and then down to use the bath and sneak out the front door in the early hours of the morning – which had been going on long before Norma had overslept and Harriet had had the misfortune of running into her directly? Did they think Harriet hadn’t known what it meant when Dad started stocking extra food, for when Norma just _happened_ to come over to raid the fridge in the middle of the day? When Norma had washed her hands in the sink afterwards, looked wistfully out the window, and gingerly watered the houseplant on the sill before she left?

Dad was moving on. Maybe he already had in that eight years Mom and Harriet had been away from him. No matter what he said. Only Mom hadn’t moved on in those eight years at all. She had never gotten over Dad. Never looked at anyone else. But Dad wasn’t like that. And what if Dad got tired of Harriet too someday, since he clearly had the propensity for it? And what if Harriet’s heart was as fickle as his? But- No! Harriet would never get over Mom! Never. _Never_!

Norma was muttering – certainly loud enough to be heard, but quietly enough that she was allowing herself to be ignored. But Harriet heard a dissonant phrase drop from Norma’s lips and, snapping from her reverie, Harriet spoke before she could think better of it.

“What was that?” she asked, with the slightest bit of desperation.

For just a second, Norma’s lip curled, conveying the barest amount of annoyance at having been interrupted. And then her face was wiped clean with an indulgent softness.

“I said Teach was telling me stories about the treasure hunting locales he ran across back when he was in Rexalia. He keeps talking about this set of ruins he stumbled into with Millie, right in your grandparents’ backyard more or less.”

“Wait- Stumbled into the ruins with…?” Harriet prompted, and waited expectantly for Norma to fill in the blank.

“Millie?” There was a moment before Norma seemed to pick up on the source of the confusion. “Your mom, Millie, as in, short for Amelia.”

Harriet blinked, slowly at first. Then more rapidly. They _talked_ about her? They _talked_ about Mom? They-?

Norma continued. “I think Teach thinks that if he tells me enough, he can convince me to go pick-up plant specimens for him the next time I’m on the mainland.” Norma tried to scoff, but the corner of her lip had curled up and she radiated fondness. “What a nerd, huh? Like I even need his old-man, out-dated contributions in my treasure hunting bingo book…”

But all Harriet could think was- They talked about Mom and- and- _How dare they!_ How dare they talk about her casually with one another, reminisce as if talking about an old friend! How dare Norma act so familiar and friendly! How dare she give Mom a stupid nickname like _Millie_! How dare she, when Mom wasn’t there to give her assent or to argue against it! And how dare Dad let this happen! How dare he not argue on Mom’s behalf!

Harriet could feel her cheeks puff. She wanted to shout and scream and, yet, there again was the frog in her throat and the pinprick in the back of her eyes. And she was afraid what would come out if she opened her mouth. So she sat fuming, staring down at her hands.

“Hey, Hattie? You feeling okay?” Norma’s voice had moved closer, and Harriet could see the tips of her yellow boots next to the table leg. “Hey, Hattie?”

 Harriet squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head rapidly side to side. When she opened them, she saw her palms were white from how tightly she’d been clutching them together.

“Hattie…” Norma took a deep breath.

And then suddenly the tip of something was pressed up to her nose and, before Harriet could figure out what it was, a flurry of soapy bubbles burst out in front of her. She jerked back and blinked rapidly, and the bubbles popped harmlessly against her cheeks and the fluttering of her eyelashes.

She lifted an arm and wiped her face against her sleeve, trying to rub the rainbows out of her eyes.

“Cheer up,” Norma said plainly. She stood with one hand against her hip, smiling as she held the striped straw between her thumb and index finger.

Harriet shrieked.

She leapt from the table, and Norma’s face fell as Harriet swiped the straw, snapped it in her palm, and tossed it aside. She screamed again, and stomped angrily on Norma’s foot.

“Ow!” Norma protested, hopping backwards. And when Harriet continued to shriek- “That’s it!” Norma yelled over her.

Norma turned and stomped over to the oven, where the muffins were still only half-baked, just barely having taken shape and still cream-coloured instead of golden brown. Crystal Eres shined at Norma’s nails.

“Fire Wall!” The oven erupted in flames. And Norma didn’t wait for her spell to fade before reaching in with the oven mitt and pulling out the baking tray. With her other hand, she reached for the knapsack she’d left in the corner, tossed it on the table, and pried open the drawstrings before snatching it back up again.

Norma stomped to the entryway door, where Harriet’s Dad had, in spite of all the commotion, not reappeared from. Norma pushed the door ajar with her elbow, and shouted through the gap.

“You know what, Teach?! Screw you! You’re on your own! This is _your_ daughter, _your_ mistake, not mine.”

As she said this, Norma was holding the baking tray in one hand, her knapsack in the other, and was shaking the muffins – now darkened and burnt in places from the fire – out of the tray into the bag. She wasn’t watching as she did this, though, and one of the muffins fell to the floor and rolled. “You want to have a conversation with Hattie about us or about the birds-and-bees or whatever?! You can _fucking_ do it yourself!”

Just as abruptly, Norma stomped away from the door and back towards the bench.

And then Will Raynard appeared in the door frame that Norma had vacated.

“Don’t curse in front of my daughter,” he commanded hotly.

Norma, who had tossed the empty baking tray back on the bench and was now drawing up the strings on her knapsack, blew a wet raspberry at him. And then she composed herself and flitted a haughty smile at the both of them – father and daughter.

“I had things I was going to do today,” she announced. “And now that I have my provisions all ready-” She gave her knapsack a satisfied pat. “I’ll be going out treasure hunting. See you in a few days, Hattie, Teach.”

Norma pushed past Will, and marched right out into the foyer, throwing the door open wide enough to reveal a startled looking Mayor Musette, and then through the front entrance.

Mayor Musette walked into the main room. She asked with gentle concern, “Is everything alright? Is there anything you need help with?”

Harriet looked about the room. The dirty measuring cup, mixing bowl, and baking tray on the bench. The flames in the oven seemed to have die down safely, after Norma’s attack, but things did still look worse for the wear. Harriet felt her eyes and cheeks were wet, and she hoped it was more from the bubbles than because she had started crying, sometime after she had stopped screaming.

Harriet walked over to where the stray muffin had rolled on the floor, and picked it up in her hand. Joke was on Norma. Perhaps the inside of the muffin was soft and easy to eat, but the exterior was hard like a rock. It was hot, and burned against her hand like a coal.

Dad sighed and rubbed his temples, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to stave off a headache.

And suddenly, Harriet felt a surge of anger at him too. He was acting as if he was simply the victim of these childish tantrums. As if this weren’t his fault for being absent through breakfast time. As if this weren’t _entirely_ his fault for inviting Norma into their house and lives in the first place.

Harriet flung the muffin directly at his big, stupid head. Dad winced as it hit and bounced away. It hurt that he didn’t seem angry about this, so much as confused.

_I hate you!_ Harriet thought of saying. But it would only hurt him. And hurt her more because it wasn’t true.

So instead – thinking she might find Senel or Shirley in town – she ran straight out of there, feeling guilty only when she failed to meet Mayor Musette’s eyes, and raced out the door after Norma.

 


End file.
